


Falling down (But Getting Back Up Again)

by rafis



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Eating disorder!Jacket, I'm not the most amazing writer, M/M, OOC, So beware, kinda angsty, not canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rafis/pseuds/rafis
Summary: Jacket finds himself facing a brand new foe, one he doesn't have a clue how to fight.(Sokol x Jacket. Major eating disorder mentions so if you find it triggering, please, don't read.)





	Falling down (But Getting Back Up Again)

Sokol was picking his way through a packet of crisps. It was late at night, and the only light in the room was the flickering tv screen he and Jacket were playing a video game on. He groaned as his character exploded with a burst of CGI blood. 

“13-14 to you. Damn.” He offered Jacket the crisps, but he shook his head without looking away from the screen. The Russian shrugged his shoulders. He was going to win this thing if it took all night. “Ready for round-” He did the math in his head “17?” 

“18.” The recorder chimed. 

“I told you, dude, we aren’t counting that! It was super unfair!” 

Jacket rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. 

“Fight me like a real man!” Sokol called as Jacket, once again, used strategy to snipe him from a distance. “Come at me! Come at me!” His character spun uselessly in circles. “Got you, you bastard..” He spotted him crouching behind a bush. He started firing at him, only to be cut off by his character flopping to the ground in an unrealistic red splatter. “What!” He spat through a mouthful of crisps. “13-15. It was first to twenty, eight?” 

“Fifteen - click - I win.”

“C’mon one more game? It’s not that late…” 

Jacket smiled apologetically. “Big job -- tomorrow” 

Sokol threw his head back into the couch and groaned. Jacket patted his hair jokingly, causing Sokol to comically try and lick his hand. 

“wo sich die Füchse gute Nacht sagen”

“Night, Jacket” Sokol stared at the blank screen as Jacket left the room. He was glad he’d decided to join the Payday Gang a few months back, even though it meant the end of his hockey career. He would give it all up all over again in a heartbeat if it meant being here. He had good friends here, a family, and he could never be bored when the adrenalin of robbing banks and doing crimes was constantly pumping through his veins. 

He put the controllers back into their drawer, and threw out the empty crisp bag. He hadn’t realised how tired he was, but he could have fallen asleep right there. 

Meanwhile, in Jacket’s room, he was flopped on his bed fiddling with his tape recorder. He still remembered what Sokol had said to him, back when they first met. 

_“Hey, fuck you and your cassette. I will steal it one day when you sleep and you will have to talk like a real person.”_

Yeah, it had taken Sokol a little bit to warm up to the mute sociopath. Jacket wondered if Sokol was used to it by now. They spent a lot of time together, and if he would have to pick a closest friend it would’ve been him anyday. But still, did Sokol even like him? Would they be friends for real if he could just talk like a “real person”? Maybe if we're just a little more like the other heisters, fit, well dressed, talkative, people would like him more and he wouldn’t have to worry about if his only friend even liked him. 

He rolled over and switched off the lights, tears beginning to pool behind closed lids. Tomorrow would be a new day, he would start again tomorrow. 

* * *

“Wakey wakey. Wakey wakey. Wakeby wak- Wakey wak- Wakey- Wakey- Wak-Wak-Wak-W-W-W-W”

Jacket glared at the Russian man, who sat on his couch, pressing buttons on his tape recorder. He raised his middle finger and squashed his head back into the pillow. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Dallas wants to talk with all of us after breakfast.” 

Jacket ran his hand over his desk for a sheet of paper and a stub of pencil. He raised his bedhead to write. “Screw breakfast. I’m going back to sleep.” He dropped the pencil back down and buried his head under the covers. 

Sokol sighed. “Suit yourself.” He tossed Jacket’s cassette player down on top of the paper. “I’ll tell Dallas you’ll be there in half an hour.” He shut the door behind as he left. Jacket stared at the underside of his blanket. He really, really didn’t feel like getting out of bed today. He just wanted to curl up and never wake up. The sheets wrapped tighter around his curled frame. Maybe he could just stay in bed, and he’d emerge, far into the future, a new person, fresh from his cotton cocoon, talkative, fit, likeable. He keep burrowing deeper into his bed, rolling over, and over, wrapping himself as tightly as he could, the linen prison encasing him and squeezing him from every direction- 

“Jacket, what the fuck are you playing at. Get out of bed you lazy bugger, Dallas is calling for everybody.” Houston paused only a moment to eye the outline of Jacket’s fetal position under the blankets, heaving as he breathed heavily. He didn’t question it, though. Jacket was one weird dude. Nothing ever seemed to be normal with him. With a shake of his head, Houston left the room. 

Jacket lay still a little longer. Laying in bed felt so much better than facing the world right now. He wondered if Dallas would come and physically drag him out of his bed if just stayed here. Probably. But would it buy him five more minutes?- Houston's knocking on the door finally pushed Jacket out of bed. 

He grabbed his cassette player from where Sokol had left it on his desk. “Coming.” 

“Bout time…” Houston mumbled, just loud enough for Jacket to hear through the door. He sighed and rubbed at the bags under his eyes, exiting the room. Houston gave him a nonchalant look and lead him to where the other heisters we're meeting. Their footsteps echoed through the halls, and Jacket glanced at a clock as they passed by. 11am! How had he slept so long!? He hadn’t even been up that late! 

The gathered crew all stared at the newcomers as they entered the room. An awkward silence filled the air as everybody took in Jacket’s fresh-out-of-bed look. Hair ruffled, clothes rumpled, eyes violet. Sokol stood up from the chair in the corner he had been reclining in and came to stand next to Jacket. 

“Everything okay?...” He whispered as the group turned back to the table covered in blueprints. Jacket nodded. Sokol gave him an unsure smile, but turned his focus to Dallas, who had started to talk. 

“Okay, Jacket, you didn’t miss much, we’re just going over the plans for this evening’s heist. It’s a simple bank job, but we have the vault plans here, might as well use them. Bain says we can go stealthy, or just smash and grab. Votes are pretty tied at the moment. Any case you’d like to make?” 

His words spun in Jacket’s head. He wasn’t awake enough for this. He stared at Dallas with a blank face.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Dallas seemed unnerved by Jacket’s extra weird behavior. He’d gotten the blank eyes before, but it was still kind of… creepy, he decided. Like he was planning a way to kill you right there and then… Sokol nudged Jacket’s arm. 

“You sure you’re alright man? You wanna sit down?” Jacket shook his head, shooting a glance to the russian. He wasn’t weak, he didn’t need to sit down form waking up too early. But still… he stood back to lean against a wall, a comfortable compromise. Sokol looked satisfied, turning back to the debate at hand. Jacket stared at him. He had an interesting way of making his points, a straight to the point brutality, no wild hand gestures like Wolf, or emotive language like Hoxton. His blond eyebrows danced, up down, up down, and his nostrils flaring was the only sign he was losing. His hair was so blond, so soft looking… 

“So it’s settled then” Dallas announced. “We’re stealthing it.” 

Sokol sighed defeatedly. “Ah, fuck, less fun. Oh well, guess I can’t argue if it’s faster.” 

Jacket trailed out of the room after him, both heading towards the room they spent most of their time together. Video games were probably the strongest bonding space the two had. Unless heists counted. They had saved each others lives more times then they could count. Huh. Their two best bonding moments were saving each other, and killing each other, then… Jacket picked up his controller and plopped himself down next to Sokol on the couch. They loaded up the game in comfortable silence, a ritualistic routine. 

“Hey man, you sure you’re up for that heist today? I’m sure Dallas could give you the day off if you asked…” He snuck glances at Jackets face as he stared uninterrupted at the TV. Jacket’s avatar burst into a cloud of blood. Sokol looked at Jacket’s bandage wrapped hands, which clutched the controller with a death grip. 

“Dude. Really.”

Jacket followed his gaze to his hands, releasing them slowly. He pressed a button on his recorder. 

“It’s -- fine -- Business as usual.”

Sokol gave up his debate. There was no winning with Jacket, he was stubborn in the best way. Jacket's character made another useless charge right into Sokol’s line of fire. 

“Let’s not count that one.” Sokol said, watching the ridiculous death animation. 

* * *

The van felt more quiet than usual, if that was even possible. Jacket felt as if everybody was watching him as he prepped his guns, waiting for him to make a mistake. As he looked up, though, Sokol was staring out the window, and Dallas and Chains were engaged in a hushed conversation. They’d been the four who’d been decided a few days ago, but he knew that Dallas probably had Hox on speed dial incase he pulled out. 

He fiddled with the bandages on his hands, wrapping and rewrapping them tighter and tighter. He knew Sokol was watching him from the corner of his eye, so he tried to make his movement fluid and purposeful. God forbid he see the shaking in his hands. A bump in the road knocked the nadage edge out of his hands. He scowled at it, and quickly tucked the loose edge in, before anyone would notice the disruption in his usually flawless routine. 

“We’re here” A voice called from the driver’s seat. 

Dallas nodded and everybody looked at him with conformation. They filed out of the van, tucking guns beneath blazers and putting on their ‘casual citizen’ faces. 

“Me and chains will take cams. You two get the equipment from the drop point.” 

The men nodded, and headed their respective directions. 

“I’ll carry it.” Sokol strapped the blue bag holding a heavy drill to his back. 

Jacket nodded and grabbed the thermite. Normally he would’ve argued, but he knew Sokol wasn’t taking any of his shit today. 

They slipped along the shadows into the camera room, which held the dead body of a guard. 

“Guess they got through here fine..” Sokol mumbled, and Jacket clicked through the cameras. He pointed to the screen of Dallas and Chains, crouched behind a corner watching a female wearing a neat black pencil skirt and blazer use a vending machine. 

“Okay, I guess we catch up to them then.”

Jacket gave an unsure look. 

“Do you want to get the equipment in place first?”

He shrugged. 

“Your call I guess.”

He crouched out of the door, pistol in hand. Jacket followed after him, sweating already from the exertion of carrying the thermite. Sokol must be dying, he thought. 

“Shit! Guard!” Sokol hissed, backing round the corner he’d just looked past. 

They could hear the footsteps dawning on them, and started to stand, and move quickly, but silently, to shelter. Jacket rolled behind a pot plant, and just in time too. 

“You! Hands in the air! Drop the bag!” He heard Sokol’s bag hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Click- Bang! 

Did Sokol shoot him? He pointed his gun down the hall. Shit! Sokol was curled on the floor, hand over his shoulder. Jacket aimed his gun at the guard. 

“Intruders-” He was cut off by a bullet through his temple. 

Jacket cursed in his head, rushing to check the pager. 

“Reinforcements on their way. Hold tight” Shit! He rushed to check Sokol, alerting the others over the comms at the same time. 

“Alarms sounding -- Russia down -- Code red” 

Dallas swore loudly on the other end. 

Bain piped up. “Shit guys, okay. You guys really aren’t prepped for a full on assault like the one I know they’re about to send. Jacket, you get Sokol out of there. Dallas, Chains, you guys got the cash from the ATMs?”

“Affirmative.” 

“Alright, you guys work on getting that out of there. I’m pulling you guys out.” 

Jacket bit his tongue. Shit, this was his fault. If he hadn’t decided going this way was a good idea… He hoisted Sokol onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm across his shoulders and using his free hand to fire at the guards that charged at them down the hall. 

“Fuck…” Sokol groaned, both of his hands gripping the other man’s jacket. 

Jacket didn’t have a spare hand to reply, so he just set his jaw and carried on. It killed him to see Sokol in pain like this, especially when it was his fault. 

They made it to the van without hitch, and Jacket lay Sokol down in the back. 

“You go back and help the others. I can handle this.” 

He shot a glance at Sokol’s blood-stained shirt. 

“Go!”

Jacket regretfully ran back to Chains and Dallas. They both had bags strapped to their backs, and Dallas carried one in his hands, and Chains two. 

“Here, take this.” Chains passed him a bag overflowing with cash. 

He complied, swinging it onto his back so he could shoot at the approaching police. They were moving forwards, slowly, slowly, but Chains was sweating, and his gun was running out of bullets. Dallas stopped to pass him one of his guns, leaving Jacket to cover them. 

“Jacket!” Dallas called suddenly, spotting the incoming enemy. 

He turned, whipping around just in time to have a shield rammed into his jaw. His vision spun, and he raised his pistol to fire. His bullets ricocheted off of the protective metal, and he crawled backwards along the ground to avoid getting shot. 

“Here man, I got’cha!” Chains called, firing a few rounds off from where he was crouched. 

The shield fell, sending Jacket diving to the side to avoid getting crushed by his dead body. 

“C'mon just run! Just run!” Dallas called, spotting the oncoming swarms of police. 

They broke into a sprint hauling the bags behind them. The engine of the van started as they threw the bags in alongside Sokol. Jacket got in first, sitting beside Sokol to check in is condition. Blood pooled around his shoulder. 

“Fuck, dude” Dallas spotted his injured teammate. He reached for the first aid kit they kept in the van as Chains swung the doors closed behind them, firing off the last few bullets, and the van screeched down the road. 

“Press down here” Dallas commanded Jacket, placing his hands around the bloody wound. WIth professional precision, he applied bandages and creams to the bullet wound. A pair of tweezers extracted the gory metal chunk. 

“What happened back there?” 

Jacket didn’t answer. He didn’t have it in him. Sokol said nothing either, grunting with pain as he worked around the injury. 

“We’re only a little ways off the safehouse now. You’re gonna be fine.” Dallas assured the painted man. 

“Do you need something for that jaw?” He gestured to Jacket’s face. He shook his head immediately, not wanting to take any attention away from his friend. Dallas nodded understandingly, and went back to his work. 

* * *

As they arrived back at the safehouse, Jacket knew that the crew was wondering what went wrong. They knew it was him, they knew what he had been like that morning. 

Knew it, they would tell each other. I knew he was good for nothing. Look what he’s gone and done to his only friend. Look at him. Look at him. Look- 

“Jacket, can you lend a hand with the bags? Me’n Chains can get Sokol to his room.” 

Jacket nodded gently and began packing the bags into his arms. Carrying the money, he was the first of the four to enter the common rooms, to meet the eyes of the other heisters. He could only look for a second, meeting their eyes for the briefest moment. Some looked curious. Some pitiful. Some downright disapproving. Jacket delivered the bags in a back-breaking silence. He wished he could just disappear. 

“So what happened back there Jacket? Was it a double-crosser?” Houston jerked his chin up. 

Jacket shook his head. Everybody waited for a response, and he knew he couldn’t get away with just playing deaf. He pressed the button on his recorder, playing the tape from the heist. 

“Alarms sounding -- Russia down -- Code red.” He watched the others piece together the strange message. 

“Is Sokol okay? Wolf burst the silence. 

Jacket shrugged, looking down guiltily. If he wasn’t okay… 

“I’ll handle the rest. You go check on him, ya wanka.” Hoxton gave him a pitiful look and took the bags from his hands. 

Jacket nodded thankfully, and shuffled out of the room. He could feel Wolf and Houston’s gaze on his back, but he didn’t turn around, scared he would give something away. 

Chains passed him in the hall, wiping his hands of blood. 

“Your buddy’s fine. He’s sleeping, though. Dallas Will be done in a minute. Why don’t you grab some paper and tell us what happened?” 

Jacket froze for a second. He didn’t want to do this without Sokol by his side… He jerkily shook his head, staring at the floor in defiance. Chains was taken aback. It wasn’t like Jacket to directly disobey orders like this. He was such a passive and nonchalant guy… Chains frowned. 

“Fine. Tomorrow. Go get some sleep, you look like you need it” He patted him roughly on the shoulder before marching away down the hall. 

Jacket leaned on the wall. If only he could more like Chains, commanding and in control. He looked back the way he had gone. Not a trace of the man. He wondered if Dallas would have left Sokol’s room yet, so he could see him in peace. He decided to take his chances, hesitantly pushing open the door. There the Russian lay, hair rumpled and brow creased. He was tucked up to his mid torso under the blankets, and his fists clutched the sheets even though he appeared to be out cold. 

Jacket gently raised a finger to brush away a blond lock that hung over his eyes. He froze as the man’s eyelid flickered, but he didn’t wake. It hurt Jacket to see him in pain like this. Sokol was dressed in a fresh shirt, but underneath he could make out the shadows of a bandage circling his chest. 

Oh Sokol, He thought. I’m so sorry. 

He got up, closing the door behind him. No point waking the man. He didn’t know where to go. Not back to the common rooms, that was for sure. He decided to head into the training room. He needed to be better, if he were to stay in the gang and not hurt his friends. He set his jaw and prepared himself for a long night. 

* * *

It had been hours. Sweaty and fatigued, Jacket was slamming his weight into a punching bag. He had been drinking water, but hadn’t stopped to grab a snack. The others were probably in bed, hopefully sleeping and not listening to the rhythmic slams of his training. He swapped to punching the punching bag. 

Slam. 

Maybe if I train hard like this every day, I won’t get people hurt. 

Crack. 

Maybe if I actually work hard, actually try, I can be more like the others. 

Bam. 

I can be liked. 

I can be normal. 

I can be real. 

I can matter here. 

Bash. 

Because nobody likes me. 

Bang. 

Except Sokol. 

Slam. 

But I just got him shot. 

Slap. 

He probably hates me now. 

Crash. 

Everybody hates me. 

Crack. 

Bam. 

Pow. 

Jacket stumbled back as the world spun around him. He landed on his butt with a thud, rocking slightly, hands to his head. 

Food. He needed food. 

He stood up, dripping sweat and grasping at the walls to support himself. His vision was whirling, his footsteps were less like walking, more like he was falling forwards and just catching himself every time. His world was tilted, he was basically sliding along the wall. 

He fumbled with the kitchen doorknob. The lights were off, but he knew his way around. He blundered through the pantries, grabbing the first thing he could find. Granola bars. The plastic wrapping was tossed aside, and he shoved half of the bar into his mouth. He could barely chew fast enough, he was so hungry, so empty. 

The sight of his full cheeks and sweaty face in the windows dark reflection halted him mid bite. He dropped the bar, and pulled himself up to the sink. Globs of half chewed food landed in the drain as he spat it all out. If he was going to be strong and in control, like he needed to be, he wouldn’t be doing this. For Sokol. 

He wiped his mouth, looking at himself in disgust. Did the others act like this? 

His shaking hands put the remains of his breakdown back, so nobody could even guess he was there. He could be strong, if he just avoided this meltdown for tonight, Sokol might be better tomorrow. He took deep breaths, and hurried out of the kitchen. Nobody had woken up, or maybe nobody was home. He was pretty sure nobody would trust him here alone with Sokol, in case something went wrong, or he absolutely broke, like he was sure everybody was expecting him to do. It had happened with Wolf, before. Most of the heisters let out their frustrations and pent up shit in small, near unnoticeable bursts while they were out on loud and violent heists. It could get pretty gory, but it was a normal part of their lives. You get weird ways of coping with a life like this, with the things you see doing what they did. Wolf had been unlucky, stuck in a spree of quiet and or non existent heists while his world crumbled around him. The safehouse had been a mess, things broken, walls graffitied, it was hard to believe this was the work of one man in under an hour. It had taken three of them to restrain him, screaming and yelling and crying. They didn’t talk about that any more. Jacket was pretty sure Hoxton and Wolf had gotten a good talk in after that episode, and it hadn’t happened again. But now, he knew all eyes were on him. Waiting for him to do that. Do worse. He shivered, trying not to think of the possibilities that entrailed. Flopping own onto his bed, he curled under the blankets. 

He hadn’t showered, he probably reeked, and definitely still had blood on him. But he didn’t care. Sleeping was a way to disappear, at least for a while. And his body was so, so tired. The room faded to pitch black and Jacket finally fell into a peaceful slumber. 

Sokol’s face, smiling. Blond hair all in his face. Laughing, both of them, sunlight dappling his cheeks, illuminating the curves and valleys. Flash. CGI blood. All of it. Emptying out of his head. Staining his hands. Sokol. Dying. Dead. 

He woke on his own, a harsh contrast to the smiling face he’d had by his side just the day before. If he’d felt bad yesterday… fuck. He didn’t think he even had the strength to get out of bed, not today. He would’ve screamed as loud as he fuckin could if he had a voice. 

He looked through bleary tear-crusted eyelashes at his hands. The bandages he wore were bloodstained, grimy, and one had a chunk of chewed up granola cemented on. 

Jacket started his day with the simplest routine, the one he’d done a million times. Unwind the bandage. Get a new one. Wrap. He scratched some of the dry blood off him fingertips. His blood? Or Sokol’s? Sokol! 

He shot up from his bed. What if he was awake, and his lazy ass had been snoozing?! 

His head spun a little with the sudden movements, and he had to take a moment to regain his balance. 

The hallway and common rooms were empty, which was a little weird for a weekday morning, like today. Jacket did not mind in the slightest though. Nobody was going to slow him down a second from seeing his Russian bestie. 

He - as quietly as possible - burst into Sokol’s room. There! A head of blond hair - sitting up - smiling at him! 

“Jacket!” His face of joy quickly turned to one of concern. “Whoa, Jacket man, what happened? Did you get in a fight with one of the other guys?” 

Jacket shook his head confused. Sokol waved him over to a smeary mirror he kept beside his bed. Sure enough, he was a fuckin mess. His hair had been matted and messy for a few days now, and there was a huge purple bruise creeping along his jaw from the scuffle with the shield. There were a few spots of blood under his nose too - he didn’t even know how he got them. He ran a hand along his cheekbone - just checking it was really him. 

He turned back to Sokol. “I’m happy -- Russia is safest” 

“So am I man, I know you couldn’t couldn’t go a day without seeing this handsome face.” He joked lightly, but Jacket knew him well enough to see the concern shadowing his eyes. 

“But really, how did this happen? Do I have to fight somebody?” It was almost ironic seeing the bedridden man threaten to fight some unknown force. Sokol ran the pad of his thumb over Jacket’s bruise. 

He clicked a few buttons. “Chains -- out of ammo. I’ll cover you. Shield -- slamming. Jacket down” 

Sokol nodded, examining his face. How could a be so pretty under a million layers of dirt and grime? 

Jacket was so grateful for Sokol. 

“Game on. Yes?” 

Sokol smirked and nodded. He patted the other man’s cheek and leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

“Shower first. Then we can talk.” 

Jacket blushed but nodded, backing out of the room with a wave goodbye. He could see Sokol chuckling at his pure awkwardness from the gap in the door but he didn’t mind in the slightest. 

* * *

Curled up. On the couch. Controllers in hand. It was a familiar scene for the two, a deja vu of the some of the highlights of their lives. 

“Where is everybody?” Jacket’s recorder clicked. 

“Dude, how many brain cells did you lose getting slammed by that shield? It’s five o’clock in the evening. Dallas, Hox, Houston, and Wolf are all out on that job that Bain was mentioning a few days ago. Chains gone out bar hopping or someone’ along those lines.” 

Jacket’s face was the picture of surprise. Five? In the evening? He stood up and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains, expecting beams of morning sunlight to grace his face. Instead, the pink rays of sunset illuminated the room. He looked back at Sokol with a look of shock. What kind of next level prank? 

“You slept for like, an entire day straight man. Don’t worry, I wasn’t peeping on you sleeping.”  
Sokol seeing him sleeping was near the bottom of Jackets concerns, what with sleeping a whole freaking day away. Was Sokol upset that he hadn’t woken sooner to check on him? The genuine smile that lit Sokols face said otherwise. He snapped the curtains closed again. The fuck kind of drugs was he on? 

He curled up against Sokol on the couch again. Time to wreck shop. 

“Yo it’s like dinner. Wanna get a bite to eat?” 

Jacket shrugged, focussing intently on the screen. 

“You can pick, if you want” 

Jacket waved one hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture. 

“Oh, cool, yeah. Wanna call it here and go?” 

He set his controller down on the ground and stood to stretch. His shirt lifted to reveal a strip of stomach as he lifted his arms above his head. Sokol’s cold finger poked his belly. He snapped his arms down and glared jokingly at the Russian. 

“Okay, I’ll drive then.” Sokol flicked the car keys in his palm. 

* * *

The road was quiet, and the sky was darkening to blue, only the tiniest hints of pink and orange gracing the horizon. A few lone stars glittered at the top of the dome of sky. Jacket dangled his fingers out the window. The air blew his hair back in gentle waves, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over im like a wave. Sokol couldn’t stop glancing at him in the corner of his eye, trying to keep focus on the road in front of him, but, my god, that man was trying to kill them both. It should’ve been illegal to look that good while sitting in the passenger side. 

They pulled up outside of a slightly run down diner. Their shoes crunched on the gravel as they shut the car doors behind them. 

“M’lady” Sokol held open the door for Jacket, who jokingly rolled his eyes as he walked in. They sat down in a booth and skimmed the menu. 

“I wonder if I can get them to make me a real American burger, but with bear meat.” Sokol pondered. Jacket wondered whether they would be kicked out if someone overheard.

A waitress came to take their order, dressed in obnoxious yellow and red which clashed with her tired and washed out looking face. 

“Can I take your orders please?”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger, thank you” Sokol didn't spare her a second glance, passing her his menu. Jacket stared at his menu. He shouldn’t pig out, because that’s not what someone in control of themselves would do. And he didn’t want to show that side of himself, not in front of Sokol. He tapped the salad on the menu, and the waiter wrote it down before leaving them in their booth. 

“Jacket man, do we need to talk about something?” 

He shook his head, caught out. Why would they need to talk? He was more in control of his life then ever right now. 

“Jacket, you’ve been acting-” He paused, searching for the right word. “Off. I think everybody back at the safehouse noticed it by now. Hey, I’m not meaning that as a bad thing man. It’s because I'm worried about you. On that heist, I know you were panicking. Hey, hey, hey, I don't blame you for this one.” he gestured to his bullet wound. “That wasn’t your fault, that was circumstance. But Jacket, you’ve been always tired, you don’t shower for days on end, you just woke up from sleeping for a full day and all you’re eating is a salad. Are you sure everything’s fine?” 

Jacket listened. When he put it like that, he sounded like a real mess. But he knew, the amount of control he had over everything in his life at the moment was the most he’d ever had. Everything could be perfect if he kept going like he was now. He could be just like the other heisters he so looked up to, cool, coordinated, flawless. If he broke down to Sokol about his petty problems now there’d be no coming back from that. 

“Everythings perfect -- Promises” 

Sokol gave a hesitant nod, he trusted Jacket. If something was going on, he would be the first to know, right? 

“Good.” He pressed his lips into a tight line. “I just… You’d tell me if anything was wrong right?” 

Jacket nodded enthusiastically. 

“Was somebody -- talking to you?” Jacket’s recorder sang. 

“No? Well Dallas… when he was changing my bandage before he left he said something about hearing you sort of break down last night. Training non-stop. Falling down in the hallway. He must’ve been exaggerating though.”

“You know -- what they think about me” 

“Jacket, I know how they used to act, but you’re part of the team now man. They care about you a hecking ton.” 

Jacket felt tears pooling in his eyes. Out of all the things Sokol could have said, that meant a lot. He was grateful for the arrival of their food to give them a distraction from the topic. 

“When we get back, I’m gon’ beat yo’ ass, make up for that 13-15.” 

Jacket snorted and wiggled his eyebrows in a ‘challenge me’ gesture. 

* * *

Controllers. TV screen. Couch. The night passed in the blink of an eye. 

“14-14 tie. Watch your back mister.” Sokol leaned into the game. 

Jacket eyed his face of concentration. Eyes squinted, grey irises dancing back and forth, reflecting the light of the TV. The scar on his nose wasn’t deadly and sinister, but rather made him look adorable and endearing to Jacket. His top lip was curled into a half-smile, and there was the tiniest flash of white teeth, straight as a military cemetery. 

“Заебись!” He threw his arms in the air and grinned in victory. His eyes flicked from the TV screen to Jacket, who was stock still next to him. He froze when he saw how Jackets eyes were analyzing his face as if he were trying to save the picture in his mind. 

“Jacket?” He whispered breathily, a small smile twisting at the corners of his lips. His head tilted knowingly to the side. 

Jacket blinked back to reality. A crimson blush crept up his neck and he felt his cheeks burning at being caught staring. The sound of the van pulling up to the safehouse cut the tension with a welcome jolt. 

“I’ll go… lend a hand to the boys” Sokol jumped up from his seat on the couch, leaving Jacket with a warm, empty space beside him. He swallowed heavily. From his place on the couch, he could hear the other heisters greeting each other. 

“How’d it go?”

“Really good, actually. Not a single slip up. How’s Jacket?” 

“He’s a lot better than I expected actually. We went out for dinner, talked a bit, y’know.” 

“Oh, good. So everything’s fine now?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

Jacket froze as they walked past the doorway, unknowingness of his eavesdropping. Nice transition from ‘slip-up’ to him. He heard their footsteps disappearing deep into the halls. He snuck out of the room, acting like a criminal in his own home. He knew the others’ routine; late night heists meant shower and sleep. He knew Sokol too. Or at least, he thought he did. Was he creeped out by his forwardness? God, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Sokol. He needed to work harder on being better, and that meant training. He slipped into the training room, shutting the door behind him. He could just do quiet stuff until everyone was asleep, then go full force. 

Why was he acting like he had to hide this? He questioned. He was doing this to get better, but why did everybody else act like it was a bad thing? 

I must not be working hard enough, he concluded. They haven’t seen any results, so I have to work harder. He began his first set of reps. 

* * *

It was really late now, way past the bedtimes of the other heisters. Jacket had been a little more careful than last time he trained, drinking water intermittently and nibbling on an apple. One apple was better than eating everything in sight. When he could feel his vision starting to grow hazy, he knew it was time to stop. No point in passing out on the gym floor to be found by the others in the morning, just when they thought he was fine. 

He wiped his sweat with a towel, and flicked off the lights, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before stepping into the hall. He wasn’t about to turn on the lights and wake everybody up like a huge jerk. 

He tip-toed especially quietly past Sokol’s room, not wanting to wake him least the come out and ask him what he was doing up so late. He couldn’t stand Sokol being concerned for him like he had today. It was unbearable, knowing that he made his best friend feel distressed. He hoped they were still friends. He definitely could have chased Sokol off with his pure creepiness today. 

Jacket fell asleep with an all over buzz that almost covered up the painful pangs of his stomach. 

* * *

“Woah!, it’s an early morning for Jacket!” 

Jacket smiled light heartedly at Houston's wildly exaggerated look of shock, clutching his heart with the hand that wasn’t holding a mug of coffee. It wasn’t that early, everybody else was up, but Jacket knew his sleeping schedule hadn’t been the most normal lately. 

Jacket wasn’t usually a coffee guy, so he got himself a glass of water, feeling surprisingly normal, just hanging around with the others. 

“Hey, you.” Sokol ruffled his bed head as he entered the kitchen. 

Jacket felt a knot inside him unravel. So he wasn’t totally weirded out. Sokol fixed himself a cup of coffee, leaning with his back pressed against the counter to take a sip. 

“Jacket! Sokol! You’re up! Good, I needed to talk to everybody.” Dallas entered the room, hair damp but wearing a dapper suit. 

Chains, Wolf, Hoxton and Houston, who were all seated at the long dining table turned to look at their leader. 

“The four of us were discussing this the other day in the van. Bain has a job planned out over in Vegas, so we’re flying out today.” 

Jacket noticed that he was looking at Sokol as he said this, not him. 

“Jacket, we uh, we thought it might be better if you stayed here, to y'know, rest. Relax. Put your feet up for a bit.” 

Jacket knew exactly what he was saying. He’d messed up on that heist with Sokol. They didn’t want him around for a big job. He didn’t blame them, actually. He wouldn’t’ve brought along a mute sociopath who reeked of sweat and collateral damage either. 

“All good.” His recorder chimed, in a feminine voice. 

Dallas nodded, clearly glad there hadn’t been a big resistance. “We’ll be there for a couple of days, so bring…” 

Jacket let his words float over his head, staring into the distance. He hadn't been alone in the bunker for more than a few hours at a time before. He could totally prank Sokol.   
Speaking of Sokol; the man was walking out into the hall, looking pointedly at him. He followed, placing his glass in the sink as he left. 

“Jacket, man, I won’t go if you don’t want me to.” 

Jacket shook his head at the absurd idea. He knew the payout of this job would be huge, as it always was when the heist involved a plane flight. He also knew that Sokol loved big jobs, ones with lots of action, and where was better for action than Las Vegas. He wasn't going to strip Sokol of this opportunity for his own selfish reasons. 

“You sure? I mean-” 

Jacket pressed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. He smiled, and clapped him over the shoulder, walking away down the hall. 

“Hey, at least give me one last game before I go!” Sokol called out to his retreating figure. He watched Jacket turn and grin giving him a chin up nod, before turning down the hall to their sacred spot. 

* * *

“Hey, if you need anything while I’m gone, don’t hesitate to call.” Sokol reminded him one more time as he stood in the doorway, loaded with bags. Jacket hesitated only a millisecond before pulling him in for a hug. He could feel Sokol’s solid chest, warm, pulsing with the beat of his heart, rolling in time with his breath. Sokol’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“See you soon, Jacket.”

“I’ll wait here. You go on ahead”

Sokol pulled away from the hug, looking one last time into Jackets eyes, looking for any last sign of needing him to stay. Jacket smiled at him. You would think he wasn't coming back, the way Jacket stared at him turn away and step into the car, blond hair disappearing into the vehicle. The engine started, and he waited until it had turned a corner and was out of sight until he went back inside. 

The silence in the bunker was a whole new kind of empty. It wasn’t just the lack of noise, but that he knew that he could scream his head off and nobody would hear. He could fire a machine gun and nobody would bat an eyelid. It was liberating, but also slightly terrifying. 

Jacket knew what he had to do to stop the silence pressing in on him like water a million miles under the sea. He half walked-half ran to the training room. There was nobody to hear him now, nobody to get concerned over nothing. 

* * *

It didn't take him long to get sweaty and buzzing with a new electricity, the flow of exercise was becoming a welcome feeling. He pushed himself harder than he ever had, fueled by a near indescribable passion; a will to be better, the freedom to hurl his body around without care, the want, the need to prove himself to the people around he thought he knew so well. 

Sweat drizzled down his brow and the salt burned his eyes, but he wasn’t stopping, hadn’t stopped for the past few hours. He was in the flow of momentum, push himself harder, harder, get better, get better, punch, run, push, pull. 

He could feel himself getting a little less accurate when he threw punches, more tired as he pushed himself off the ground. Standing up too fast caused black spots to dance across his vision, and he stumbled, his buzz faltering, the world spun, spun - he crashed unconscious to the floor. 

* * *

Fuck… his head. His eyelids felt glued down, his face was crusty and sore. Jacket opened one eye, then the other, trying to adjust to the light. Where was he? He lifted one hand, slowly pushing his aching body off the floor, only getting his torso up before he collapsed back onto the ground, disorientated. Fuck, he hurt all over, and his vision was whirling. He could make out the shapes of the training room. So nobody had found him… right. They weren't around. 

There were no windows in the gym room, and the lights were on so Jacket couldn’t tell what time it was, how long had passed while he had been lying there. Had it been 5 minutes? Or hours? He moved slower than a snail, breathing evenly, clawing at the wall to pull himself to his feet. His knees quivered and he had to press his chest into the wall to keep from face planting. He leaned heavily into the doorknob, stumbling out of the way of the door, fingers death gripping the doorframe to keep him upright. His head pounded with every step, he had to remind himself how to walk. Left, right, left, right. He pushed open the kitchen door. It was dark outside. Huh. So maybe he had only been on the floor a short amount of time? Jacket checked his phone, which had been resting on the kitchen bench from where he had put it after Sokol left. 7:46pm. His eyes widened in shock. Saturday. Sokol had left on Thursday. He had been passed out on the floor for more than a day. 

He poured himself a glass of water, chugging it, only now realising his thirst, refilling the glass, downing it again. He opened the fridge, looking for anything edible. He grabbed everything he could, eating it right there in the fridge light, on the floor. He ate, and ate, making up for the days he had been dead to the world. He ate until he couldn’t anymore, feeling full to the brim. 

He looked at his food-stained hands in disgust. What the fuck had he just done. Did someone who was in control of their lives do that? Did someone who was professional, and helpful on heists do that? Jacket felt suddenly sick. He slammed the fridge door and ran for the bathroom. His knees gave out right beside the bathtub, not quite all the way to the toilet. 

He puked, acidic vomit swirling down the bath drain. He retched until there was nothing left in his stomach, he was just dry heaving. His fingers were coated in vomit. He hadn’t made himself vomit more, he just- he just-. He would never. 

A single tear dripped into the acid filled tub. Then another. Then another. Jacket was crying. He let his face screw in the most ugly, gargoyle like way. What had all the control he’d built been worth? He lost everything in an uncontrollable few minutes. What happened to working hard? What more could he do to make any difference? To mattering? 

Jacket wiped his eyes with one sleeve and yanked on the showerhead. Water washed the foul liquid down the drain, and Jacket stepped one leg in, then another. He stood, under the freezing cold shower, fully clothed, letting it sting his eyes, mingle with his tears, wash the pain, and the hurt way. Or maybe just make him feel so numb, he just couldn’t feel anything at all. 

Oh fuck, he felt his cassette recorder in his pocket. He clicked a button, to test. It made a whirring noise, but no sound came out. He sighed, and turned off the shower. He was shivering now, cold water and cold air were not a good combination. He didn’t even bother drying himself off though, just stepped out of the tub soaking wet, leaving pools of water wherever he stepped. He didn’t own another one of these jackets, and he wasn’t going to take it off, even if he was alone. 

Shoot, the others would be getting back in under an hour… Jacket slumped his head onto the kitchen counter. He would have to be quick to cover his tracks. 

He let a new energy take hold of him, possessing him to do the chores. Clean the kitchen. Check. Tidy the training room. Check. Dry the bathroom, and everywhere else his runoff had been. Check. His clothes were considerably drier after all the moving, still damp, but not sopping wet. His cassette player was still jacked though. He would probably have to ask Wolf to lend him a hand on that one. 

Jacket ran a hand through his hair. Hopefully they wouldn’t ask what happened. He could probably say he dropped it into the sink or something, but they all knew he wasn’t that clumsy with his most prized possessions. Jacket dug through the kitchen drawers to find a notepad and biro. He would have to go the old fashioned way for a while, it looked like. 

He heard the car pull up to the garage, and the hoots of the crew. Just in time, he consulted the clock. Seems like everything went smoothly. 

Sokol was the first one through the doors, lugging his bag behind him. 

“Jacket!” He kissed him sloppily on the cheek. He reeked of alcohol. 

Jacket smiled and returned Sokol’s enthusiastic bear hug, giving him a pat on the shoulder as the man burbled away in unintelligible russian, rocking from one foot to the other. Hoxton, Houston, and Chains burst in through the door after him, hooting and dancing. Wolf sang in swedish, Hoxton in “english” (Jacket could not make out a word he said). Hoxton slapped him over the shoulder, really hard, making him stumble a bit. Chains chortled and picked him up, by the waist in a hug, rocking him around. 

“We miSSed yoU” Hoxton sang, leaning heavily on Wolf. “Chicken boy! Haha! Did you hear that? Chicken boy!” 

The three danced off down the halls, Wolf still singing and Hoxton still laughing his head off. 

Dallas came in last, visibly tired and not drunk. 

“They decided to raid the alcohol supply. Not blaming them, looks like fun.” He half mumbled to Jacket. He glanced at Jacket’s clothing. “Why are you wet?” 

Jacket shrugged, unable to think of a lie. Dallas was too tired to care anyway. 

“I’m going to bed. You can hang out with these loonies if you want, but I say a half hour car ride is enough. Goodnight, Jacket” 

Jacket waved him goodnight, and went the direction to his own room. You’d think, waking up from a day long nap, you’d be energised and not tired, but Jacket felt suddenly unexplainably exhausted. He couldn’t wait to collapse on his bed, swallowed whole by the bedsheets. 

* * *

Only Dallas and Jacket were in the kitchen. The others were most likely nursing hangovers in their own private, respective ways: Wolf tinkering, Sokol watching hockey, Chains polishing his guns, Hoxton doing whatever the fuck Hoxton even did, and Houston sleeping. 

“Did you get drunk why we were away?” Dallas asked. 

“Why?” Jacket wrote on a piece of paper. 

“You smell like vomit. Not to be insulting, it’s better than the other five.” 

Jacket gave a tight smile and nodded. Better Dallas think he was being normal, having fun and getting drunk then know he had been passed out on the floor, and showering with his clothes on. 

He and Dallas sat side by side for a while, each enveloped in their own thoughts. 

“Y’know, Sokol really likes you. I heard him drunk talking about you.” 

Jacket perked up, listening. 

“What’d he say?” He wrote. 

Dallas smiled and slurred his speech in an imitation of shitfaced Sokol. 

“Jacket’s so nice, so puree. He’s like-” Dallas made sobbing sounds ”A big cinnamon roll-ho-ho-l” 

Jacket couldn’t help silently laughing and shaking his head, imaging Sokol saying such things. 

“You two are really lucky to have such a strong bond in a life like this.” 

Jacket nodded sincerely. Sometimes, Sokol was the only thing keeping him breathing, it felt like. 

“Hoxton! Hey man!” Dallas cheerily greeted his friend. 

Hoxton glared and shushed him, getting a glass of water. 

Jacket silently got up and slipped out of the room, leaving the two to deliberate. He wondered whether Sokol was feeling well enough to hang out. He gently rapped on his door. 

“Who is it?” He grunted. 

Jacket just stood silently, not sure what to do. After an awkward moment, Sokol made the connection. 

“Oh! Jacket, you can come in. Sorry man. What happened to your tapes?” 

Jacket entered the room, pulling out his recorder to show Sokol. 

“Oh no, what happened? Nevermind, I’m sure Wolf's be happy to fix it. You should take it to him now, while he’s in the tinkering mood.” 

Jacket nodded, leaving the door ajar for his return. Wolf’s door was open, so he let himself in, spotting Wolf amongst a tower of machinery. 

“Hey Jacket.” Wolf said softly, not looking up. Jacket held out his cassette player. Wolf turned away from his work, examining the device. 

“Oh shoot man, that sucks. Here, let me fix that for you. I’ll get it back to you when I can.” 

Jacket scrawled out a thank you on his notepad. Wolf waved it away, already turning back to his work. 

“Don't mention it, man.” 

Jacket nodded and left, the dead weight in his pocket gone. 

Sokol had shuffled over in his bad since he’d last been in there, and he patted the space next to him as Jacket entered. 

“Check it out man. My old team.” 

Jacket eyed the grainy figures in the small TV set kept in his room. He knew that he could easily get a fancy flat screen TV, he had more money than he’d probably ever need, but this one could pick up signals from Russia, and on rare occasions like this Sokol could watch his beloved hockey team play, a strange parallel to what his life might’ve been like. 

“They’re not half as good as they were when I was there” Sokol stated, as he did every time he watched them miss another goal. 

Jacket nodded in agreeance, eyes on Sokol’s hands, which gripped the blanket’s edge with every close play. He couldn’t understand a word of the russian commentary, but Sokol seemed enthralled. He’d tried to learn a few phrases once, but he doubted the announcers would be saying what Sokol had taught him (Oh fuck: (Ух, блядь) Fuck, bitch, shit: (Пизда, сука, блядь)). 

“Yes!” Sokol watched his team win the game, the announcer wrapping up the commentary. The channel changed to a russian news anchor, and some pictures of birds. 

Sokol turned to Jacket. 

“Wanna hear about Vegas?”

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” Jacket scribbled. 

“Haha man, you’re right. Fuckin grand time though. Heist was smoother than butter.” 

Jacket laughed at this weird figure of speech. 

“What’d you do back here? Pick up chicks? Cook up a storm? Jacket drew a lopsided picture of a beer can. Sokol slapped him on the shoulder. 

“Jacket you savage. Getting drunk off yer ass. Should’ve guessed that one.” 

Jacket smiled. 

“So sounds like you had a fuckin great time too. Ah, Bain could send me on the worst heist right now and I think I’d still come back feeling happier then a fucking sunflower.” 

Sokol stared disinterestedly at the news broadcast. He flicked Jacket on the forehead. 

“You look pale, you want a drink?” Jacket shook his head, knowing all Sokol kept in his room was sugary and or alcoholic drinks. 

“Fair enough. Hey, we were talking about a small job on a jewelry store the other day. Perfect for you to get your head back in the game. What d'you say?” 

Jacket nodded eagerly, ready to pull his weight around here for once. He hadn’t been on a heist in seemingly too long. 

“Cool beans. I’ll tell Dallas you’re in.” He looked at Jacket’s pad of paper, which he was absentmindedly doodling on. 

“Mind you, Wolf’ll have to fix your recorder before tomorrow. I’d expect he’ll be done long before then, though.” 

Jacket nodded in agreement, eyes not leaving the paper. His drawing was of a drunk Sokol, smiling goofily. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but Sokol grinned. 

“Awh, that’s adorable. I’m going to frame that.” 

He snatched the paper from Jacket as soon a he set the pencil down. Jacket poked his tongue out jokingly. Sokol poked his out back and they both squinted at each other. It was good to have him back. 

* * *

 

The nerves Jacket was feeling were similar to how he’d felt in his first heist with the Payday Gang. Excited, anxious, scared but not really. He’d already wrapped his hands, checked his guns, so now all he could do was wait, watching the scenery fly by in the window. 

“Okay, Jacket since this is your first heist in a little while, you and me’ll go for the cams together. Sokol, Hoxton, you guys handle the safes. If it goes loud, like Bain said it probably would, Jacket watch the safes, Hox and Sokol do runs and keep each other covered, I’ll hold the store.” Dallas reinstated.

Everybody had known the plan since they had gone over it back at the safehouse, but it never hurt to be safe. Jacket slipped on his ballistics vest, the others following suit. 

The van slowed to a halt opposite the store, and the men tucked away their weapons. Dallas nodded and opened the doors, letting them file out and towards their jobs. 

The entrance to the cam room was in a back alley, so Jacket covered Dallas as he picked the lock, watching out for any stray passersby who might catch a glimpse of some pretty suspicious activity. 

Dallas shot the camera man, leaning down to answer the pager. Jacket flipped through the cameras. Normal amount of guards on duty, nothing out of the ordinary. Dallas was just picking the lock into the main building when they heard gunshots rain out. 

“Shoot guys, cops are here.” Hoxton’s vice rang out over the comms. 

“That’s okay, stick to the plan. I’ll start taking a few hostages.” Dallas answered calmly, opening the door to the main room and taking out another guard with practised ease. 

Jacket stepped over the dead body to get to the room with the safes. A guard stepped in his path raising his gun, but Jacket was faster, shooting with perfect aim. Blood spattered the polished white wall. 

Hoxton and Sokol nodded at him, both leaving the drills to him as they went to go run bags to the van. This store sure had a shit ton of jewelry on display. 

The drills only stopped once each, and Jacket was fine shooting the few police officers who wandered to the back window that lead into the room. He packed away the cash and necklaces from the safes, and headed out to Dallas, helping him shoot a few remaining cops. 

“Okay, good. You can help the other two run the last few bags, then we can go.” He didn’t lose focus on his targets. Jacket nodded and joined the pair who were stationed outside, crouching behind a car, a bag strapped to both of their backs. Hoxton was standing up, shooting and then ducking back down before he could get shot. Sokol was just managing little peeks out on the side because of the hail of bullets that left craters in the car’s paint. 

A shield charged from Sokol’s side, giving Jacket deja vu to his heist gone wrong. 

“Shield incoming!” 

His message same just in time. Sokol rolled backwards, letting the shield charge forwards into the space he had just filled. Unfortunately this left Hoxton vulnerable, and Jacket tried to aim at the hand that poked out from beside the shield. His bullets had no impact, but in an unfamiliar fashion, the shield pulled something from their belt. 

Bang!

His ears rung and his vision was stained white. Flashbang, god dammit. Through the blur and ringing he could make out something strange. The shield, had cast away their defence and instead was wielding a knife. What the heck? His arm swung towards Hoxton who was still spinning with the effects of the flashbang. 

Jacket kicked his leg out sending the ‘shield’ flying. The officer got up, angrier, charging straight at Jacket, tackling him to the ground. They wrestled, Jacket trying to pull his gun up and shoot him while keeping both the knife and gun away from him. He managed to knock the gun out of his hands, sending it clattering against the store wall. Now the officer had only the knife, that while Jacket had been distracted, he had raised in both hands white over Jacket face. His arms were outstretched, and his knees pinned Jacket down by his arms. Just as he was about to plunge the blade straight into his face, a bullet blasted through this temple, coating Jacket in a thick red splatter. His body crumpled over Jacket, who rolled it off in disgust. 

He nodded in thanks to Sokol, who held out a hand to help him up. 

“Let’s go. These are the last bags.”

He nodded and they ran half crouched to the van, hurling their bags into the van before leaping in and swinging the doors closed behind them, nodding at Dallas and Hoxton, who were already in the back, Dallas wrapping a heavily bleeding hand of Hoxton. 

Jacket felt the adrenaline begin to drain, feeling suddenly dizzy. He managed to raise a hand before he collapsed. 

Dallas was quick to check his vitals. Heart beating. Breathing. 

“Jacket!?” Sokol shook his shoulder, alarmed. 

He made no response. 

Dallas took off his jacket, and removed the ballistics vest, finding a bloody patch staining his shirt. 

“He’s bleeding! Pass me the scissors” He held a hand outstretched. 

Sokol was quick, selecting what he needed. Dallas cut the shirt down the middle, revealing Jacket’s chest. 

Not quite the way I wanted to see him shirtless for the first time, Sokol thought. 

There was a gash across his side, but not bad enough to have knocked Jacket straight out, although it was bad. The more shocking sight was Jacket’s boney and skeletal chest. Every rib protruded like a sunken city from the plains of his chest, skin so pale it was almost translucid. Even Dallas, the medical professional, seen everything, highly efficient, froze. What happened? 

He shook it off quickly and instead did what he could, bandaging Jacket’s wound from wrestling with a knife wielding shield. 

Sokol wasn’t moving. He couldn’t stop staring at the way Jacket look so frail lying there, bones exposed and unconscious. Why was he so… emaciated? He’d had a happy weekend! Sokol just couldn’t put the pieces together. Someone must have done this- it must have been some sick fuck. 

“Sokol…” Dallas placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“No! Jacket!” he cupped the other man's pale face in his own hands. 

“Sokol…” Dallas said again. 

Hoxton watched silently from the corner of the van, unable to help. 

“Who did this! Who did this!” 

“Sokol! Snap out of it man! We’re here” 

Sokol looked around, disoriented. He scrambled to his feet, bumping his head on the roof. Both of the other men watched him stumble gracelessly out of th van, offfest by the weight of emotions. Hoxton and Dallas lowered Jacket from the van, carrying him inside. Sokol fluttered by an anxious bird around them, desperate to help but unable. His hands were tangled in his hair, or his knuckles were grazing his teeth. 

“Jacket…” He mumbled. 

Dallas let the man sit by his bedside, resting his hand on his shoulder silently before he left. As the door closed behind him. Sokol felt a warm trail begin down his cheeks. Tears splattered down onto Jacket’s letterman. A small dark patch formed where Sokol wept. He wasn’t ashamed, the others could probably hear him too. How could he not see? How? How? Jacket said he’d tell him if anything was wrong! He lied! He lied! Sokol yanked his hand away from Jackets embrace. He closed the door behind him, to let Jacket have privacy and quiet. He fell to his knees, right there in the hall, and screamed into his hands. 

“FUCK! FUCK! EUGHHHHHH!” He screamed with all his might, into his fists to try and muffle it at least a little, Dallas and Chains came running, stopping short when they saw him, face tear streaked, knelt on the floor. They looked back at Jacket’s closed door, working out that it wasn’t something with Jacket, but rather the Russian man. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Dallas tried to place his hand on Sokol’s back but the man kept yelling shaking him off him, and when he tried to place it again, he swung a punch that hit him directly on the nose. 

“Whoa, relax” Chains rushed over, pulling Sokol’s elbows behind his back as he struggled forwards, lurching towards Dallas, who was cupping his nose as it let off a stream of red. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Sokol screamed. 

Houston came running as well, pausing to piece together the scene in front of him. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” Chains said gruffly, dragging the younger man along on his feet towards his room. 

“Houston can you lend a hand?” 

He nodded and opened the door for him. Sokol was still screaming, but now it was all Russian, and Chains was pretty damn sure it wasn’t nice things. He placed hm heavily onto his bed. 

“Sokol! Man! You're not helping anything hurting us. Dude.” Houston snapped his fingers in front of Sokol’s face, his other forearm braced against his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. 

“You aren’t helping Jacket, you certainly aren't helping yourself. Deep breaths man, deep breathes. Here, breath with me.” He inhaled and exhaled, slowly and deeply, after a few repetitions he could hear Sokol struggling to do the same. His breathing sounded clogged from screaming and crying, but he had stopped yelling, and wasn’t fighting Houston anymore. Chains saw that he had it under control, and backed out of the room. Houston hesitantly lowered his arm. 

“Good. Good. Now, here, c’mon. I’ll turn on the TV. The Bombers are playing. You want to watch? You want to watch yeah?” He clicked on the TV, watched Sokol’s eyes wander to the TV. He looked down, and saw Sokol was clutching his hand. He mumbled something. 

“Sorry, what?” he leaned in closer. 

“I said, they’re not half as good as when I was there.” Sokol rasped into his ear, and he lay back chuckling. 

Houston smiled at his change in demeanour. He watched the game for a while, and Houston could see him starting to fall asleep. He tried to free his hand from Sokol’s grasp. The man clutched his hand tighter. 

“Jacket. Jacket” he stared at Houston. He realised he must’ve been confused, thinking he was Jacket. 

“Jacket please don't go…” 

Houston shook his hand free. 

“Jacket’s gonna be fine. Jacket’s gonna be fine. Goodnight Sokol.” 

“Jacket…” He mumbled as Houston switched off the lights and shut the door. The poor man.

* * *

Jacket awoke with a gasp. He sat up, but the room spun and he felt a sharp pain in his chest. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, hey” Houston rushed over to him as soon as he saw him, pushing him back down flat onto the bed. 

“Take it easy man. Dallas!” 

Jacket wriggled back from Houston's touch, confused. What happened? Houston looked alarmed, trying to hold him still in the bed, but it only instilled more fear into Jacket who fumbled for his tape recorder. Dallas came rushing into the room, eyes locking onto Jacket instantly. 

“Jacket, Jacket, keep still, you’re only going to reopen the wound. Here, we’re not gonna touch you.” He pulled Houston's wrist away. 

Jacket stared at him, breathing heavily. “What happened?” 

“Well first, what do you remember?” 

Jacket tried to think back. 

“Jewelry store. Loud. Shield. Van.”

“Okay, good, that’s good. Well you sort of passed out in the van. We’re not a hundred percent sure why.” 

Jacket gestured to the bandage that wrapped his torso. “Well yeah, but, uh, Jacket, have-have you been, uh… okay?” Jacket knew Dallas was skirting something. He probably saw how out of shape he was. Damn it. Houston looked pointedly at Dallas. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll let someone else handle this.” 

Houston glared at him a little as he left. He took a seat, alongside Jacket’s bed. 

“Jacket, when they were checking your wound, you- you looked really sick. Nobody’s sure what to think. Sokol’s distraught, I think he thinks it’s his fault. Did you-Did you do that to yourself?” 

Jacket stared at the wall. Do what? What had he done? 

“There's nothing--wrong?” 

“Jacket, they were pretty shaken up by what they saw. Clearly something is wrong. Is there something you’re not telling us?” 

Jacket shook his head. He was an open book. 

Houston gave a slight sigh of relief. He wasn’t great friends with Jacket, and he didn’t know what he’d’ve done if Jacket had broken down to him. 

“Where’s Sokol?”

“He was sleeping last time I checked on him. He might be awake now, if you want me to check.” 

Jacket hesitated. Did he want to talk to Sokol right now? He nodded, and Houston gave him a small smile before going to check. So that's what Houston was doing in his room. He must’ve been checking in on the two of them. He wasn’t close to Houston, but now he thought he might just be able to stand him. 

“Jacket!!” Sokol rushed into the room. He stopped for a second to take in the sight of his bandages, before leaning down to hug him. 

Jacket said nothing, didn’t hug him back. 

Houston backed away from the doorway, leaving the two to their privacy. 

“Jacket, someone did this to you right? Someone did this?” 

Jacket shook his head in confusion. Was he delusional? 

He grabbed one of Jacket’s hands in his own, examining the protruding knuckles and sickly pale skin. 

“You didn’t do this to yourself, you said you would tell me if something was going on! You promised! You lied! You lied! Why didn’t you say anything? You knew I was ready to help you! Why are so selfish?! You lied to me!” 

Jacket leaned as far back into his bed as he could. Houston came running back through the doors, alarmed by the commotion. Why were the two best friends fighting? 

Sokol had picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, and was swinging it wildly. Houston sheltered his head with his arms, trying to restrain Sokol but also not get knocked out. 

“You lied! I hate you!” He swung the glass into the wall, and Jacket brought his arms to cover his face from the hail of glass. 

Houston took the moment to grab Sokol’s elbows, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold him down alone. Sokol shook him off easily, running towards Jacket’s bedside, but Houston tripped him, watching him fall to the floor amidst the broken glass. His forehead was bleeding. Houston pulled him out of the room by his armpits, his disorientated thrashing now far less dangerous. 

He could hear Sokol still shouting, and Houston trying to calm him down.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Chains said gruffly, entering the room with a dustpan for the glass.

He picked it up silently, and Jacket continued staring at the spots of blood on the floor in shock. Sokol… hated him? 

“Don’t get yourself down about it. He’s just acting out because he feels guilty. Dallas was like that too when Hoxton first got locked up. It’s not as uncommon as you think. And he doesn’t hate you, he’s just confused. Give him a few days, he’ll come to.”

Jacket nodded slowly. He didn’t want a few days, he wanted Sokol. Old Sokol. Happy Sokol. Drunk cinnamon bun Sokol. 

Chains finished cleaning up the glass and left, closing the door behind him. Jacket lifted the hand Sokol had examined to his face. Sure enough, it was boney and every tendon stuck out like a mountain range. So maybe he had gone a little too far training hard, so what? There wasn’t anything wrong with him, no reason for him to have alerted Sokol. It wasn’t that bad anyway, everybody knew he could stand to lose a few more pounds. He tried sitting up again, slowly this time. He managed to prop himself up against the headboard, looking around the room properly. Somebody had tidied up his desk. He could hear a shower running, and Sokol had stopped screaming. 

Houston pushed open the door, holding a new glass of water and a plate with a sandwich on it. 

“You know you shouldn’t be sitting up. Doctor’s orders” He reprimanded, but he made no effort to enforce the rules. 

“Better if you sit up to eat anyway, I guess.” He sat the plate down on Jacket's lap, and the glass on the table. 

Jacket stared at him, not picking up the food. 

“Eat. You want to prove you’re well, you act normal. Go on.” He wrapped Jacket’s hands around the sandwich. 

Jacket complied hesitantly, lifting the food to his mouth like a robot. He paused just before his mouth. Was this losing control? Was this giving in? 

Houston nudged him gently, and he closed his eyes and took a bite, chewing too many times before swallowing, feeling the lump slide down his throat. 

Houston sat beside him, watching him eat with a painstaking slowness. He didn’t complain, though, just let him move at his own pace until he had swallowed every last bite. 

“Good.” He took his plate, and smiled at him before leaving the room. 

He sure didn’t feel good. What if Sokol hated him even more for losing control? What could he do to make everyone believe he was okay? Jacket quickly began fabricating his story in his head. He wasn’t lying to them - just getting them off his back, so they didn’t have to get worked up over nothing. When Houston came to check on him again, he was sitting up and smiling. If you knew Jacket well you’d’ve known something was up, but luckily, and to his advantage, the people around the safehouse did not know him well at all. 

* * *

“You’re looking better! Good to have some food in you?”

Jacket smiled wider and nodded. Houston took a seat beside his bed. 

“Sokol’s okay, he’s just working through some stuff. He thinks you’re on death's door or something.” Houston laughed. 

Jacket nodded along with him, not finding it funny, but if he could just fool Houston he’d be good to go. 

“You can probably get up now, if you want and you’re feeling better. No point confining you when you’re good to go.” 

Jacket smiled, and dangled his legs out of the bed. Houston stood up to lend him a hand getting out of bed, but he waved him away, pushing himself up off the bed frame. Houston handed him his jacket, which he thankfully slid over his shoulders. When he was all covered up, you could almost believe everything was fine, just the way it was. 

“We thought you’d be more open with Sokol, but that’s not really an option anymore. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?” 

Jacket pulled out his paper for this one. “This is a high energy lifestyle, and it can be hard to make time and remember to eat and stuff. I guess I forgot a few too many times.” 

“Oh, yeah I totally understand that. Thank god it wasn’t anything serious.” Houston clapped him over the shoulder and followed him to the door. 

“Do you want to come and help us plan the next heist? It’d did the others a world of good to know that you’re okay and nothing crazy is happening.” 

Jacket nodded and shrugged. He was going to keep this up. 

* * *

It was late at night, and Jacket was itching to work out. Him and the other heisters, minus Sokol, had all eaten dinner together, and he could feel the stiff tensions between them melt quickly away. When they all retired to bed, Jacket seized the opportunity to train. He needed to keep this control over his life, nobody could stop him from becoming better. 

As he sat up, sweaty and panting, from a set of pushups, he glimpsed a flash of blond hair in the doorway. He stood, wiping his forehead. 

Sokol stepped into the light of the doorway and glared at him. Jacket stared back at him, unsure of what to say. He didn’t know if Sokol had known or suspected his training sessions before this. 

“I know what you’re doing Jacket. You can fool them, but they don’t know you as well as I do. You can’t fool me.” 

He spun on his heel and stamped down the hall. 

Jacket watched him leave. Why was he mad? If anyone should’ve been upset, it should’ve been him. When had Sokol turned into such a huge jerk? 

Jacket didn’t feel like continuing, so he switched off the lights and headed back to his room. He hadn’t done anything to Sokol, he hadn’t lied to him, like he’d been accused of. Maybe it was better that he was distancing himself. Jacket didn’t want to hurt him anymore. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. 

“That was a one time thing!” 

“No it wasn’t, you don’t know him!”

“Sokol, all you know is you saw him working out. We all work out, there is nothing weird about that. You’re just being paranoid. He said it to me himself, he just forgot a few too many times!” 

Sokol huffed in annoyance, and stormed out the door, unfortunately straight towards where Jacket had paused to listen in. He glared at him as he passed, not saying anything. Jacket pressed a button. 

“Sokol.” 

“Fuck off!” 

Jacket didn’t chase after him. What was the point, if he was just going to get yelled at. Instead, he entered the room Sokol had just left. Inside, stood Dallas and Houston, who were leaning over some blueprints and photographs on the rickety old table. 

“Jacket, hey, good timing! We were just going to go get you. We need one more man for the heist- well two now. I presume you saw Sokol?” 

Jacket nodded. Houston patted him on the back. 

“Don’t worry man, it’s not about you.” 

Jacket knew what he’d heard but he kept his mouth shut. 

“Wolf’s always up for a late night job. I’ll go ask him.” Houston left the other two on their own. 

“Hey, we all know what happened last time, but Houston told me about how it was a one time thing, and you’ve been really well lately, so we thought you’d be fine for this. Not a difficult job, just another bank heist. We’re going in loud, but you can handle that. Vault’s here, we’re coming in here.” Dallas pointed to several highlighted points on the map. “We’re going to have to carry the loot out this way,” He ran his finger over a long narrow pathway. “So we’ll need a strong melee fighter. You up for it? I’d recommend bringing something a little more painful than a baseball bat.” 

Jacket nodded. A second chance. 

Houston and Wolf filed into the room, Wolf looking excited. 

“A heist you say?” He beamed, his eyes twinkling. 

Dallas smiled back, and started showing him the plans. 

* * *

He hadn’t seen Sokol before he’d left, probably for the better. HIs hateful words were starting to dig in, but the moments they passed each other and said nothing were hurting more. 

“Houston and Jacket you guys get the vault like we planned, yeah. Wolf, you got the zip ties?” 

Wolf held up a bag of ties in response. 

Dallas nodded and pulled on his mask. 

“Everybody get down on the ground! Get down on the fucking ground!” 

Jacket followed Houston towards the vault, covering him as he picked a lock and set up a drill. 

The vault was overflowing with stacks of cash, and they wasted no time shoving them into bags. 

Houston called the others over the comms. 

“All bagged. Come and cover us.” 

They heard running footsteps and gunshots, and the other two came panting in, Wolf covered in a spray of red. 

“It’s not mine, don’t worry. I’ll help carry, you can look after the bags.” 

Dallas nodded and kept firing out the door. 

Wolf, and Houston both grabbed a bag, and Jacket pulled out his machete, which he’d been saving for this moment in particular. 

He lead the way, being confronted with an officer only a few steps in. He was quick to press the blade to his throat and throw his body to the side. Houston followed behind him, holding a gun that wouldn’t be that much help in the confined space if he needed to use it. Wolf came last, walking backwards and wielding a pistol. The three of them crouched along the path, only stopping when officers jumped out at them, but Jacket was quick and efficient, and the bodies piled up along the sides. They dropped the bags into a vent, and turned to run back, Wolf leading them this time. 

Dallas was holding tight with the bags, but he looked strained. 

“You grab a bag. I’ll cover.”

Wolf loaded his gun and swapped places with him. 

Dallas nodded thankfully and strapped on a bag, gesturing to Jacket to lead the way again. 

They got further along the path this time without interruption, but halfway along, two officers jumped out, taking them by surprise. Jacket took one out immediately by stabbing him through the chest, but he was tackled to the ground as he tugged out the blade from his torso. Houston stood helplessly, aiming the gun at the rolling pair, but unable to shoot, should he hit Jacket. 

The officer grabbed Jacket’s empty hand, but he retaliated, swinging the blade, sawing straight through his wrist. Blood spurted out, and the officer sat back, crying out and grabbing his wrist, and Houston took the clear shot and fired a bullet straight through his temple. 

They wasted no time continuing on, and no other officers appeared. Dallas lead them back to the final few bags. Houston took Wolf’s place without being asked. 

Down, vent, back. 

Jacket had to wipe at the eyes of his mask to clear some of the blood. 

“Back to the van. Move as a team.” Dallas commended. 

They took cover behind pillars, furniture, anything, as they slowly and painstakingly edged back towards the street. 

By the time they were out the doors, Jacket was positively soaked in red. He felt euphoric, however. Nobody had gotten more than a scratch or two, and he had been integral to the team’s success. He couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. 

“Good job back there, boys. Especially you, Jacket.” He nodded at the bloodstained man. 

Behind his mask, Jacket beamed. 

* * *

When they got back to the safehouse, Jacket was awarded first shower. He was on a high of successful heist. Maybe now he could talk to Sokol and show him how happy and healthy he was. Just look at him! Clean, smiling, almost dancing down the halls. He knocked twice on Sokol’s door. No reply. He placed one hand on the wood and gently pushed it open. 

Sokol’s room was empty. 

Not just empty of Sokol, but everything. The basic furniture was still there, his bed, the table, the armoire, but all his stuff was gone. The TV, his clothes, his hockey memorabilia. 

Jacket ran his fingertips over the now empty drawers. Was he moving into a different room? 

Jacket wandered into the common rooms to look for some answers. Hoxton sat on the couch, mindlessly flicking through a magazine. 

“Do you know where Russia is?” 

“Oh, hey Jacket.” He put down the magazine. “I thought you knew. He’s going to live in an apartment somewhere. I don’t know for how long, he didn’t say. Came out of the blue for me too, but I thought he’d’ve told you of all people. Actually, nevermind.” 

Jacket saw him thinking back to the previous events. 

“When did he leave?” A gruff male voice came from the cassette player. 

“While you guys were gone, actually. He was quick about it too - shit! You don’t think he was avoiding you, do you?” 

Jacket just shrugged. He wouldn’t put it past the new Sokol. 

“On the bright side, though, Bain said he’s getting someone new in. Said something about a woman! Maybe Houston will actually start showering” He laughed and picked his magazine back up, flicking through glossy pages. 

Jacket wandered back to Sokols room - old room. He sat down on the bare mattress. Sokol had gone to such lengths to ignore him, pack up his shit in the middle of night and move out - and for what? Was he not good enough? Did Sokol need someone who was better, who could flawless execute heists every time and not pass out in the back of the escape van? When would what he did be good enough? He’d been training so hard to get better, working so hard. He thought he’d done good today. Clearly not good enough for Sokol though. He lay down on the empty bed, curling into a ball on the bare mattress. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend Sokol was there next to him, watching hockey in silence. Maybe, he’d open his eyes, and Sokol would be sitting across the room, offering to play video games with him. He would have given everything in his life to just have Sokol stand him again, to just be good enough for him. 

Jacket wouldn’t admit to falling asleep with tear trails down his face like a broken hearted eighth grader, but he could the a draft blowing gently on his wet face as he fell asleep. 

* * *

“Oh, there you are. The new recruit’s here.” Houston paused as he saw how Jacket had slept, curled up on Sokol’s empty bed.

He shuffled quickly out of the door and let Jacket orient himself, eyes bleary from sleep and eyelashes crusted with dried tears. 

He let himself out of the room, embarrassed at being caught sleeping on Sokol’s bed like that. A moment of vulnerability. At least there was nothing to hide. They all knew he’d been close with Sokol, and the two had been fighting. Maybe they didn’t know just how close the two were. 

He stopped in the bathroom first, splashing his face with water. His reflection stared back at him above the vanity. He looked tired. Not exhausted, not overworked, just tired. 

He left, a little bit apprehensive to meet the new person. He could hear voices in the common rooms. He entered, pushing his shoulders back and tilting his chin up, the picture of confidence, instead of somebody who’d just spent the night mourning their ex-best friend’s absence.

A woman stood in the room, chattering to Wolf and Hoxton as if she’d known them her whole life. Houston seemed particularly taken with her too, you could almost see the cartoon love heart eyes in his adoring face. 

“Jacket! Clover, this is Jacket. Jacket, clover.” Hoxton introduced the two. 

Jacket shook her hand in a civil manner, but couldn’t help being stiff and unsmiling. This was Sokol’s replacement… Not that anybody could ever replace Sokol, Jacket thought. 

“Hiya, Jacket.” She smiled at him, clearly a little thrown by his cold denamour, so unlike the others’ bright introductions. Jacket didn’t use his recorder, instead stared, straight into her eyes, until she turned away uncomfortable. He wanted Sokol back, not a replacement. 

He made his way to the kitchen, pushing past her crowd of enthralled viewers. 

“Not to fond of the newbie either, I see.” Chains was sitting at the kitchen table, using his laptop. Jacket shook his head, leaning on the counter. 

“She’s no Sokol. I’ll miss the guy. Plus she’s already brainwashed these fucks.” He gestured at the swooning heisters. “We’ll have to see what she’s like with a gun, before we can decide anything for real, though.” 

Jacket nodded, not taking his eyes off the gathering. Everyone was there except for him, Chains, and Dallas. And Sokol, of course, if he even still counted. Chains sounded pretty sure that he wasn’t coming back. 

Jacket left the kitchen, catching a snippet of Clover’s conversation as he walked past. 

“What’s up with that guy anyway?” 

“He doesn’t talk. Never has. That’s just Jacket for ya’” 

“But why’s he look so sickly? He ill or somethin’?”

Jacket sped up, not wanting to hear anymore. 

Thump. 

He ran straight into Dallas, who was holding some papers. 

“Oof- sorry Jacket!”

Jacket shook his head. 

“My fault.”

He stood, blocking the hallway for a second. 

“Do you - need something?” Dallas asked after a moment. 

“Sokol - -address?” 

“Oh, I’ll see if I can get that after I’ve done trialing the new chick. Won’t be too long.” 

Jacket bit his lip nervously. He felt like he was about to break down, he needed Sokol, right then. Dallas could see the clear desperation on Jackets face, and lay a hand gently on his shoulder. 

“Tell you what man, there's some paperwork on my desk. You can go look through those, see if I’ve written it down somewhere. Now excuse me.” He slipped past him, and carried on down the hall. 

Jacket took off, half walking, half running to Dallas’ office. He scanned through the papers quickly, searching for the information. 

Aha! A sheet of paper with messy handwriting, an address scrawled at the bottom of the page. He wrote down the address on his own notepad, and folded the piece of paper, tucking it into his pocket. He couldn’t stop himself from reading what else the paper said. The handwriting was too messy to make out everything but he could work out little phrases here and there. 

Leaving due to personal reasons. Do they intend to return? Jacket couldn’t work out what it said. Do not give away address. Oops. So Dallas must be doing him a pretty big favour disobeying the papers. 

Jacket wasted no time heading towards the door. He would’ve driven, but Dallas had already given the address, he definitely wasn't going to give him car keys too. He went the long way, avoiding the adoring fans. Well, adoring fan. He was pretty sure it was only Houston now. If Sokol was here, they would have made fun of him together. If Sokol was here, maybe he wouldn’t be on the verge of freaking the fuck out. 

He didn’t have a map, only the address in his pocket as he set off down the streets. It was almost dark by the time found Sokol’s apartment block, the ‘Blue Royal Hotel’ It wasn’t a hotel, and it certainly wasn’t royal. No wonder Sokol had been able to move in so quick. The place was in shambles. 

It reminded Jacket of where he used to live, before the Payday Gang. He was glad he had the safehouse now. 

He made his way up the stairs to Sokol’s apartment, the elevator was broken. The walls were stained yellow with years of smoke and mistreatment. Sokol’s room had a wooden door, and one of the numbers had fallen off, leaving a faded mark around it. 

He knocked. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He tried the doorknob, and surprisingly, the door swung open to reveal the room inside. There were boxes scattered around the room, and the TV was smashed. Jacket knelt down beside it, examining the broken glass. Sokol loved this TV, he wondered what had happened to it. He heard a door open, and out stepped Sokol, a sight for sore eyes. He had apparently just emerged from the shower, because his hair was dripping wet. 

“Jacket!? Who the fuck let you in here? How’d you get my address!?” His eyes flared. 

“Door was unlocked.” 

“Yeah right it was.” Sokol grabbed Jacket by the collar, shoving him against a wall. His face was screwed in anger. 

“Didn’t you get the hint? I don’t want to see you ever again!” He released him with a huff. 

“Scram!” 

Jacket didn’t move. 

“I said, SCRAM!” 

He stared. 

Sokol swung his fist straight into Jacket’s cheek. He grabbed his collar again, pulling into another punch. And another. Jacket crumpled to the ground. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” He kicked Jacket in the ribs, making him curl into a ball. His shoe connected with his face, and a spurt of scarlet streamed from his nose. Jacket didn’t fight back. He was dazed, and to be completely honest, he prefered being beaten up by Sokol then being ignored. 

“Get the fuck out! You peice of fucking shit!” He pulled him up again, slamming his head against the wall before shoving him roughly out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving him in the deserted hallway. 

Jacket slid down the door, nursing his nosebleed. He wasn’t going back to the safehouse. He couldn’t stand being around the replacement, Sokols empty room, the ghosts that haunted every inch of every room. 

He let his tears mix with the blood on his face, body shaking in silent sobs. He just wanted everything to be the way it was. Before he fucked everything up. Before he messed with everything he loved. Sokol would be better off if he never met him, he’d still be with the Payday Gang, still be happy. He’d be better off dead. 

He hurled his cassette player against the wall, watching it shatter into plastic chunks and small metal pieces against the wall. Sokol’s footsteps stormed towards the door, and it swung open. 

“You want to fuckin have it?” He raised his fists. 

Jacket raised his hands to shield his face as he was yanked up by his collar from the floor. Sokols shoes cracked on pieces of broken plastic. He was flinching back, but the hits never came. He opened his eyes to see Sokol, still looking angry, but taking in the tear tracks on his hollow cheeks. 

“Why do you make this so fucking hard, Jacket!” He shoved him back, releasing him. “I’m supposed to hate you, Jacket! I want to hate you! Why are you making this so fucking hard?! Fight back! Tell me you hate me! Hit me! Hit Me!” He spread his arms. 

Jacket did nothing. 

He grunted and shoved his chest, pushing him into the wall. “Stop being so nice! Do you know how hard this is? I never wanted to see you again. I didn’t want to see my best friend dying in front of me, when I couldn’t do anything! I didn’t want to be reminded every waking moment of how fucking useless I am as a friend. I don’t want to see how I let down the best thing my life. I don’t want to attend your funeral Jacket! But everytime I see you skip a meal, stay up late training I know I’m coming one day closer writing my eulogy for you!”

Jacket was taken aback. So, that’s why he’d left? Not because he hated him, but because he thought he’d let him down? 

Jacket felt a sudden inexplicable urge, and wrapped his arms around Sokol, pressing their lips together. Sokol stumbled a bit, surprised, but he kissed back after a few seconds, tasting the blood on Jacket’s lips. 

They pulled apart, panting.

“Come in.” Sokol stepped back into his apartment. 

They sat opposite each other at the rickety table, in the flickering kitchen light. Neither could look the other in the eyes. Jacket could hear the distant murmuring of a TV through the thin walls. 

“Please come back.” He wrote on a piece of paper, passing it to the Russian. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Jacket stared at the grain of the tabletop, tracing it with a fingernail. 

“They’ve got a replacement.” He wrote. 

“I bet they do. Is he the fucking bomb?” 

“She.” Wrote Jacket. 

“Oh.” 

Sokol glanced around the room. 

“There’s enough room for all of us. You’re room is still yours.” 

“Jacket, I can’t. I just- I can’t” He shook his head, choking back sobs. 

“Please.” Sokol read the message, but didn’t reply. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

A single tear dripped onto the paper. 

Sokol stood suddenly, the chair squeaking along the linoleum floor. He wrapped his arms around Jacket, enveloping him. 

“You have to tell me everything. Come clean. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” 

Jacket nodded sincerely, and let Sokol lead him to the couch. They curled up in the way they always had, but somewhat more intimate now, and Jacket began to write, and write, and write. 

* * *

Sokol was the first to wake, finding himself with Jackets head resting on his chest. He was shocked for a moment, before remembering what had happened the night before. Papers were scattered everywhere, all filled with Jacket’s writing. The pad of paper had slipped to the ground, Jacket’s sentence unfinished. He’d fallen asleep before he could finish, but Sokol got the jist of the story from there. Clover came, he found his address. 

He stared at the other man’s face, so perfectly angelic in sleep. He didn’t look so sad when he was sleeping. He still had bruises across his face and around his eye, which Sokol did feel guilty about, and his face was sunken, cheekbones jutting out, sharper than a knife. He could feel Jacket’s hip bones digging into his leg. 

Sokol brushed at a stray eyelash that lay on his cheek. Jacket’s eyes slowly fluttered open, taking a second to focus on what was going on. As soon as he realised he was lying on top of Sokol, he sat up, shuffling off of his body. 

Sokol shivered at the absence of his warm body. 

“Morning.” 

Jacket nodded back at him, still piecing together scattered memories. Sokol sat up too. 

“Let’s have something to eat before…”

They both knew what was going to happen. Sokol was coming home. 

They ate in a comfortable silence, one they had both longed for for so long. There was still hurt, betrayal, but everything felt so much less now. There was something new. Love. Jacket remembered kissing Sokol in the heat of the moment, it seemed corny now that he thought about it. 

Sokol took his plate to the sink. 

“Ready to go?” 

Jacket nodded. 

They stopped in the hall, picking up any salvageable pieces of Jacket’s recorder. 

“Wolf is great, but he’s no magician. You might need a new one.” 

Sokol laughed at Jacket’s appalled face. He gently punched Jacket’s shoulder. 

“I trust him.” 

Jacket smiled, and they both descended the stairs together. They sat down in Sokol’s car, Jacket in the passenger side. Sokol turned in his seat, not turning on the engine. Jacket looked at him from the passenger seat. 

“Jacket.. You’ll tell me if you’re struggling okay? I am not letting this happen again. I don’t care how weak you think it makes you seem. You tell me okay? Anytime. Just.. please.” 

Jacket nodded as soon as he saw Sokol’s heartbroken expression. 

Sokol took Jacket’s boney, bandaged hands in his own muscular, warm ones. 

“We’re going to get through this. Together.” 

And Jacket could swear he’d never felt so real in all his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I know I'm not the best writer, but I really appreciate it!


End file.
